Elvis Presley - In the ghetto

As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
A poor little baby child is born
In the ghetto
And his mama cries
because if there's one thing that she don't need
it's another hungry mouth to feed
In the ghetto
(In the ghetto)

People, don't you understand
this child needs a helping hand
or he'll grow to be an angry young man some day
now take a look at you and me,
are we too blind to see,
or do we simply turn our heads
and look the other way

Well the world turns
and a hungry little boy with a runny nose
plays in the street as the cold wind blows
In the ghetto
(In the ghetto)

And his hunger burns
so he starts to roam the streets at night
and he learns how to steal
and he learns how to fight
In the ghetto
(In the ghetto)

Then one night in desperation
the young man breaks away
He buys a gun, steals a car,
tries to run, but he don't get far
And his mama cries

As a crowd gathers 'round an angry young man
face down on the street with a gun in his hand
In the ghetto
(In the ghetto)

And as her young man dies, (In the ghetto)
on a cold and gray Chicago mornin',
another little baby child is born
In the ghetto
(In the ghetto)

Jonny Cash, The Ballad of Ira Hayes

Gather round me people and a story I will tell
About a brave young Indian - you should remember well
From the tribe of Pima Indians- a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years
the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole their water rights
and the running water hushed
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farm grew crops of weeds
But when war came, he volunteered
and forgot the white man's greed

Ira Hayes, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira hayes
He won't answer any more
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Nor the Marine who went to war

They started up Ira Jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty seven lived to walk back down again
And when the fight was over and Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes

Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored,
everybody shook his hand
But he was just a Pima Indian - no money, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
and when do the Indians dance?

Then Ira started drinking hard, jail often was his home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it
as you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk early one morning,
alone in the land he'd fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes

Yes, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is still as dry
And his ghost is lying thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died

Pistols shots ring out in the barroom night
Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall
She sees the bartender in a pool of blood
Cries out "My God they killed them all"
Here comes the story of the Hurricane
The man the authorities came to blame
For something that he never done
Put him in a prison cell but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Three bodies lying there does Patty see
And another man named Bello moving around mysteriously
"I didn't do it" he says and he throws up his hands
"I was only robbing the register I hope you understand
I saw them leaving" he says and he stops
"One of us had better call up the cops"
And so Patty calls the cops
And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashing
In the hot New Jersey night.

Meanwhile far away in another part of town
Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are driving around
Number one contender for the middleweight crown
Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
Just like the time before and the time before that
In Patterson that's just the way things go
If you're black you might as well not SHOW up on the street
'Less you wanna draw the heat.

Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the corps
Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowling around
He said "I saw two men running out they looked like middleweights
They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates"
And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head
Cop said "Wait a minute boys this one's not dead"
So they took him to the infirmary
And though this man could hardly see
They told him that he could identify the guilty men.

Four in the morning and they haul Rubin in
Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs
The wounded man looks up through his one dying eye
Says "Wha'd you bring him in here for ? He ain't the guy !"
Yes here comes the story of the Hurricane
The man the authorities came to blame
For something that he never done
Put in a prison cell but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Four months later the ghettos are in flame
Rubin's in South America fighting for his name
While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game
And the cops are putting the screws to him looking for somebody to blame
"Remember that murder that happened in a bar ?"
"Remember you said you saw the getaway car?"
"You think you'd like to play ball with the law ?"
"Think it might-a been that fighter you saw running that night ?"
"Don't forget that you are white".

Arthur Dexter Bradley said "I'm really not sure"
Cops said "A boy like you could use a break
We got you for the motel job and we're talking to your friend Bello
Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail be a nice fellow
You'll be doing society a favor
That sonofabitch is brave and getting braver
We want to put his ass in stir
We want to pin this triple murder on him
He ain't no Gentleman Jim".

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much
It's my work he'd say and I do it for pay
And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
And ride a horse along a trail
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.

All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance
The trial was a pig-circus he never had a chance
The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums
To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger
No one doubted that he pulled the trigger
And though they could not produce the gun
The DA said he was the one who did the deed
And the all-white jury agreed.

Rubin Carter was falsely tried
The crime was murder 'one' guess who testified
Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied
And the newspapers they all went along for the ride
How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fool's hand ?
To see him obviously framed
Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
Where justice is a game.

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell
That's the story of the Hurricane
But it won't be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time he's done
Put him in a prison cell but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.